


Growing Pains

by finwritesthings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stargate, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, I wouldn't say the violence is graphic per se more so just the aftermath, Klance and Friends Zine, M/M, Trauma, i'll add more tags when i remember how to actually tag because it's been so long, this fic is mostly sad with a dash of hope at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 01:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21438310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finwritesthings/pseuds/finwritesthings
Summary: “Take these flowers, to remind you. They will die eventually, they have been cut from their roots, their source of life. But you can plant new flowers, nurture them, help them grow. They will not be the same, but you can start anew, and these flowers will be remembered.”And he will be remembered.~Forget-Me-Nots: Often associated with remembering and treasuring loved ones who have died – remembrance after death.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Kudos: 6





	Growing Pains

“Keith,” the voice was soft like it always was like it had been trained to be. Keith knew that voice, not in the sense of whom it belonged to, but in the sense of what. “I’m a therapist, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” A pause, a sigh. “We’d been making so much progress.”

The metal frame of the crappy office chair dug into Keith’s thighs as he slouched forwards, elbows braced on his knees, head in his hands. His fingers twisted into the strands of his hair, gripping tightly and yanking them away from his scalp. The sting reached all the way down to his jaw, where his teeth ground together in yet another desperate attempt to center himself.

_ How do you find your center in a world that’s lost all gravity? _

Something tapped Keith on the head, so gently he almost missed it. His fingers snapped away from his hair as if it were fire, little strands of black falling with them. The world spun a little as his head jerked up to see... a bouquet.

There’s a coil searing his insides, turning them into molten lava as it tries to spill up his throat and out his mouth: a seething rage. Flowers. A gesture of love and romance being given to him here, now, by his therapist. Keith wanted to slam the bouquet into the ground - wanted to watch all hopes dashed, whatever outcome she was searching for. Instead, he kept the lava bubbling just below his throat; kept his body seated, kept his hands still, kept his gaze steady on the stupid flowers.

She seemed to notice. “You know, not all flowers are indicative of a romantic advance. In fact, none of these flowers here are meant to convey romantic love. At least, not the way you’re interpreting this.”

The lava began to cool, settling hard and heavy in his chest as she corrected his misinterpretation. 

“Then what are they for? Condolences?” Keith’s scoff was a desperate attempt to cover-up the icicle burrowing deep into his chest as his lungs sputtered over the word.  _ Condolences. _

“Well, I have a request to make,” the therapist said “I’m going to go through each flower in this bouquet. I’m going to tell you what they stand for and I want you to try and associate those meanings with influences in your life. What you do with that afterward is up to you, but I am giving this to you in the hopes that these will act as a physical reminder: you are not alone, and you do not always have to draw on your own strengths.” She places the bouquet on a side table, unraveling the bow with slow, careful fingers. Keith watches as the delicate petals quiver with each touch, looking almost as if they were breathing. “There are other things and people around you that you can rely on. You can use their strength to help you get through.” The therapist starts her explanation of the blooms and their meanings.

Yellow orchids: the rounded, star-like petals looked silky smooth, the dark center contrasting the shining yellow like the shade under a tree on a bright summer day.  _ New beginnings. _

Lily of the Valley: it was so much smaller than many of the other flowers, delicate drops of white swaying gently from slim green stems.  _ Return of happiness _ .

Purple Hyacinth: The curled petals looked so inviting, Keith’s fingers ached to slide across the smoothed surface. The stem was barely visible through the bushel of purple that bordered on blue.  _ Forgiveness _ .

Allura was not a hard association to make. When Keith had first begun to work with her, she had seemed too hard, distant. She was their general after all. But as the days stretched into weeks... months... years, she had shown them so much more. Allura had been through many tragedies in her life, but one of them had truly shaken her: the death of her father. Keith never learned the full story - she did not tell, and Keith did not ask, but he knew it had broken her for a very long time. She had to learn to forgive herself, to be happy once more, to start anew. And eventually she had. Keith knew few people as strong as Allura, and he had become so proud to serve under her command.

King Protea: an odd but uniquely beautiful flower, with it’s red, crown-like petals spiking up to the ceiling.  _ Change and courage _ .

Pidge. It was obvious to Keith immediately, Pidge was like the poster-child for courage and change. After everything they’d been through, everything they’d lost, Pidge still pushed on. If something didn’t work, they didn’t give in, they adapted. When their family was torn apart, Pidge tried over and over again to get them back. Time and time again their attempts were met with failure, yet they got back up. They kept going regardless of how many times they’d been knocked down. They changed to fit each new requirement, each new environment. They would do whatever it took to save those they love.

Snowdrop: small, white flowers hung from fragile stems, quivering with every disturbance. Keith marveled at how such gentle flowers could withstand snowfall.  _ Consolation and sympathy _ .

Star of Bethlehem: A simple little flower, white petals surrounding a tiny yellow center. Closed green, buds, with slits of white peeking through, clustered beneath the unfurled petals.  _ Hope _ .

Keith felt a smile pull ever so gently at his lips: Hunk. Whenever anyone on the team needed someone to lean on, to lay themselves bare to, who would give them advice and perspective void of judgment, it was always Hunk they turned to. He was kind and caring, always there to lift people up. He never looked down on anyone, always sought to help – even those on other planets whom he barely knew.

Gladiolus: Frilly purple edges leading into pale yellow centers, stacked on top of each other as the climbed up the stem. The flowers looked silky to the touch, gently dipping downwards from their perches.  _ Strength of character, remembrance and never giving up _ .

A wide grin, styled orange mustache, and crinkled eyes popped into Keith’s mind. Coran was the head of the medical staff at the Stargate Command, but he had become so much more to the team. He’d known Allura since she was a child, working alongside her father for so many years, and though he may not have been with the SGC for that much time, it sure felt like he had. After every mission he was there, assessing them with a bright smile and his endless supply of incomprehensible jokes and phrases. He would tell stories of the “good ol’ days” and how he’d been in “quite the fisticuff or two back in his prime.” And he had; Coran had been through the ringer just like the rest of them, and he’d faced a great many losses. Yet he kept going, supported the team behind the scenes: bandaging them up when they returned battered and bruised, checking in on them during downtime to make sure they were okay – not just physically, but in all other sense too. He knew the effects of a job like theirs all too well. Keith remembered a night, standing in front of the Stargate, shoulder-to-shoulder with Coran. He had spoken in such a quiet tone, weighed with the losses in his life. Keith had never seen this side of Coran before. Yet there he was, telling Keith about losing the loved ones in your life, about the utter despair you spiraled into. He remembered Coran turning to him, hand clasping Keith’s shoulder with a comforting weight. Coran’s words had gripped his heart with an aching warmth. “But we must keep our heads up, lad. We must remember them, their love and light in our life. Then we must fight the good ol’ fight, for them.” He wasn’t wrong.

Sunflower: Brilliant yellow petals blossoming from a dark round center. These weren’t the towering sunflowers filling fields as far as one could see, but the smaller ones you’d find in the garden of the lady who lived down the street. They were bright and warm, like a gentle summer’s day.  _ Positivity, platonic love, and strength _ .

There was one place that had been a constant, a safe space, for Keith’s entire life. Shiro was a forever-enduring beam of support. He had been with Keith every step of the way - from the time he was a baby all the way till now, a grown adult with a fully established life and career; Shiro was still there. In the team, Shiro was a strong leader, supporting every member and doing his best to make sure every order was for the safety and success of every teammate, every mission. There were times he failed, but he never stopped. He never had. Keith recalled moments of his childhood, dark and looming with uncertainty. But Shiro was always there to guide him, to tell him it would be okay, a constant source of love and strength.

There was one last flower, soft blue blossoms clustered together: Forget-Me-Nots.

Ocean eyes, warm hands, quiet laughter, snarky comments, slow touches, racing heartbeats. Keith’s mind struggles to sort through all the memories, all the emotions. Finally, it settles on one; but it wasn’t one he ever wanted to see again.

_ Pain. Keith’s mind was muddy with it. Searing his right thigh, digging into his lower back, crushing his lungs. It rippled through his whole body as he ran. ‘Just get back to the Stargate.’ It was the only thing that rang clear through his mind, a desperation to get home, to live. His body begged him for a reprieve from its seemingly never-ending torture; but he could not stop, he would not stop. Keith refused to die here, he had so much left to do, so much left to say, to feel, to see, to- _

_ _

_ “Keith!” The voice had Keith tripping over nothing, stumbling in a desperate attempt to stop, to see. He needed to make sure the owner of the voice was okay. He’d barely found his footing when there was a weight fumbling into his side. Arms wrapped around him, steadying them both as hot breaths billowed over Keith’s neck. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” _

_ _

_ Keith grappled at Lance, desperate to assure himself that he was there, he was real. “Where were you?” His throat was tight, voice pitching up in obvious fear. “We couldn’t find you, I looked for as long as I could but Shiro, he- we agreed- I- fuck! Lance, you could have died.” _

_ _

_ Lance leaned back, clasping Keith’s face in his hands, tracing every feature with his eyes. “But I didn’t, I’m here, I’m alive.” His thumbs brushed at the tears staining Keith’s cheeks. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying; he didn’t really care. _

_ _

_ The rattling of shots being fired rang through the air, shaking through Keith’s chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. A piece of him was begging him to hold Lance, right now. Tell him how much he loved him, how perfect he was, how irreplaceable and important. Begged him to map out every crinkle of his smile, every part of his hair, every lash on his eyes, every single detail that he could. Remember it. He pleaded with himself, for some unknown reason, desperate to keep every piece of Lance he could adhere into his memories. _

_ _

_ His thoughts shattered as Lance tipped his forehead against Keith’s, soft whispers of love falling onto Keith’s skin. He pressed against Lance, seeking the comfort of his warmth, the beat of his heart. _

_ _

_ “We have to go.” Keith knew it, even before Lance said it aloud, but he didn’t want to. Keith wanted to stay, in that moment with Lance, forever. Perfectly still, slotted against each other like putting something broken back with its other piece. Lance made up everything Keith had been missing and right there, in that perfect space of time, Keith never wanted to let it go. _

_ _

_ The weapon fire was getting louder. Keith felt like a part of him was being ripped off as Lance pulled away, a twisted emotion fixed on his beautiful face. _

_ _

_ “C’mon. We need to get moving.” As soon as Lance started moving, Keith’s body kicked back into action. His gun was out and at the ready, eyes scanning the horizon for Jaffa. It was not long before he saw a line of armoured figures moving towards them. _

_ _

_ Lance seemed to notice almost immediately after Keith, but he soon realized Lance was only delayed because he’d looked the other way: another row of Jaffa approached from the West. Keith instinctively found Lance’s hand, backs thudding together as they turned to each face a row. It was a familiar stance, a safe stance. Keith never worried when he had Lance on the field with him; they were a good team after all. _

_ _

_ “Let’s give these wormy assholes a run for their money.” Keith snorted, as only Lance would be making jokes on the battlefield. He squeezed the warm palm clasping his own, both in agreement and assurance: they would get through this. Then the gentle fingers were gone and the two were laying down fire as they made their way to the Stargate. Each step in perfect synchrony as they moved through the field. Keith was vaguely aware of the blue flowers filling the air as they were trampled down by the raging war. He didn’t stop to wonder further, because they were almost at the gate. _

_ _

_ Keith bolted for the DHD as soon as he could, Lance lifting his sniper-rifle off his back to take point. The gate whirred to life as he punched in the last coordinate, the water-like substance exploding out of it for a brief second before settling into itself. _

_ _

_ Keith barely had time to open his mouth before Lance was shouting, “Go! I’ll keep point and follow once you’re through.” Keith stepped forwards to argue, heart racing as he tried to process what leaving Lance behind could mean. “Keith, don’t argue with me, please.” Keith had never heard Lance so desperate before. His heart screamed for him to drag Lance through the gate with him, but as he glanced at the encroaching army, Keith knew. _

_ _

_ The grated runway crashed into Keith’s body as he tumbled through the gate, hurtling down the ramp. He grappled to stop his tumbling, lurching to his feet once he had any sort of purchase. He’d barely made it to a standing position when Lance came bolting through the Stargate after him, the iris closing in quick succession. The breath was crushed from Keith’s lungs as he stumbled back once more, bracing against the side of the runway as he wrapped his arms around Lance. _

_ _

_ Keith’s heart stopped. _

_ _

_ He lifted a hand away from Lance’s uniform, staring down at the sticky red coating his fingers. _

_ _

_ Keith feels the laughter bubbling up in his chest, forcing its way out his mouth. Not the kind of laughter when you see your friend trip on air, or your pet dumps food on themself; but the kind of laughter that comes from pure terror for the safety of someone you love. The kind of laughter that makes you cling to that person as tears stream down your face. The kind of laughter that feels like you’ve cracked a rib when it is suddenly halted by the realization of what your hands are actually wet with. _

_ _

_ Keith’s laughter turns into choked sobs as Hunk and Pidge try to help Lance up off of Keith; but as they move him, Lance’s coughs leave blood trailing across Keith’s uniform. There are distant cries for a medical team, but all his senses just seem to be falling into a murky pool, muddled and indiscernible. Everything but Lance. Keith clings to him, sliding to the ground as his legs give way. He watches the tears splash against Lance’s face, unable to make any words come out. _

_ _

_ “Hey there samurai, don’t cry on me now. It’s just another battle scar, there’s nothing to worry about.” Lance’s voice is weak, and his smile quivers. _

_ _

_ “You idiot, you absolute dumbass… Why would you do that?” Keith tries to blink away the tears, he wants to – no. He needs to see Lance’s face, just one last time. _

_ _

_ Lance raises a shaky hand to Keith’s face, wiping his tears away yet again. “Because I love you.” Lance’s expression is so open, so vulnerable, his voice free of any of that trademark Lance confidence. _

_ _

_ Keith leans down to press his forehead against Lance’s, uncaring of the ache it causes in his back, the tingling in his legs from having them tucked under Lance. He holds Lance’s head in his hands, eyes tracing every feature. Keith counted the freckles on Lance’s nose and cheeks, noted every smile crease by his eyes and mouth, the strong line of his jaw, his silky brown hair now matted with blood from Keith’s hands. Distantly he’s aware of the blue flowers ground into Lance’s uniform, clinging to his hair: Forget-Me-Nots, he realizes. _

_ _

_ “Please…” Keith doesn’t even recognize his own voice. “The team needs you, I need you.” _

_ _

_ Lance’s breathing is shallow now, and Keith’s pants are soaked in blood. Keith hears the medical team racing up the ramp behind them, but they’re too late. _

_ _

_ “I love you too.” _

_ _

For so long all he could see was blue, smearing across every aspect of his life: dripping from his hands as he got ready in the mornings, staining the fabric of his uniform, etched into every word he wrote, clouding every breath he took, lining every syllable he spoke. At night, the blue would pool behind his eyelids as he lay in bed, stark and alarming in the quiet of his mind. When he would finally fall into fitful sleep, the blue trailed after him with a chilling grip on his heart.

The blue still painted his world, but it was not the same. He saw it in every ocean of every world they visited, the ebb and flow tantalizing: promising great beauty beneath its dangerous pull. He felt it in every smile, laying across his lips. He felt it in every laugh, melting down his spine and into his stomach. He saw it in the night, so dark you might think it black; but if you looked close enough, you’d see the ocean eyes behind the sky.

He saw it now, too. In the petals of the Forget-Me-Nots, where the water collected into tiny droplets before slipping off to the soil below. Keith was proud of how well they’d grown. He’d been so afraid of taking care of something so delicate – something that could die so easily. He wasn’t afraid anymore. As he looked up at the pictures of teammates – friends – surrounding a picture of that one bouquet, he remembered something.

_ “Take these flowers, to remind you. They will die eventually, they have been cut from their roots, their source of life. But you can plant new flowers, nurture them, help them grow. They will not be the same, but you can start anew, and these flowers will be remembered.” _

And he will be remembered.

~

Forget-Me-Nots: Often associated with remembering and treasuring loved ones who have died – remembrance after death.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fic I did for the Klance & Friends Zine that took me forever to post but is honestly one of my fav fics to have written! I loved the whole flower association piece, it was really nice to figure out what flowers I thought worked best with each person. And of course the artist I partnered with did such a wonderful job that I'm still a wreck over that


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